Right place, right time
by JazzyJane
Summary: Rick and Carl flee the prison after the attack. They're separated from the group and Rick's been shot. Soon the wound is infected and he can't go any further. Carl is out searching for medicine when he runs into a stranger. Max offers to help and returns to treat Rick. Possible one shot. Rated T for minor language and gore.


I turned the corner and almost dropped the gun in surprise. Standing in front of me was a boy, he couldn't have been more than thirteen. Looking at him though, I knew he'd have no problem pulling the trigger on his gun.

I couldn't shoot a kid, so I opted for another track. "I don't want any trouble," I said slowly. Very carefully I placed the .38 into the holster at my hip. I could see doubt seep into his eyes. That was good, it was very good. "You alone?"

"No," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

I narrowed my eyes as I studied him, I had the feeling that he was telling me the truth but not the entire truth. "Hmm, I am. Name's Max." I stepped forward and held out my hand.

After a moment's hesitation, the kid stepped forward and shook it. "Carl."

"You've already been through these apartments kid?" Carl shook his head. " Well how about we go together, split anything that we find?"

I could see him chewing on his lip, trying to decide. "Yeah, alright," he finally said. "But I get first crack at any medicine."

So that's what it was, whoever he was with was sick. "Deal," I said. "I'll go first."

The two of us managed to clear the building fairly quickly. There wasn't much there, just a few stray cans of food and a bottle of ibuprofen. Apparently someone had beaten us there.

"It's better than nothing," I said as I tossed the pills over to him. "You eaten today?"

The kid nodded but this time I knew he was lying. "Well I haven't. What do you say we split this can of peaches?" I grabbed one of the cans out of 'my' pile. Without waiting for an answer I pulled off the top. Taking a fork from my jacket I speared one of the slices. "It's good," I said as I passed him the food.

He hesitated, a guilty look on his face, but then he dug in. We passed the food back and forth, savoring every bite. When there was nothing left but the syrup, I pulled out a cup and poured most of it in. "Here," I offered it to him. "I'll just drink from the can."

I watched as he drank all the liquid in practically one swallow. Poor kid was starving. I tossed back the little liquid I'd saved for myself. "Who are you with?" I asked.

"My dad."

I nodded. "That's good. I'm glad you have one of your parents. He's sick?" Carl nodded. "He get bit?"

"No!" the kid yelled. "He got shot."

I hated the fact that it didn't surprise me. The world had gone to hell in a hand basket and it was every man for himself. "Where?"

"Back at the place where we were staying," Carl began but I interrupted him.

"No, where on his body was he shot?"

The kid blushed. "Oh, um, his leg."

I pushed myself up. "Why don't you take me to where he is. I'm no doctor but I might be able to help."

Carl led the way through the maze of streets. I was surprised at the distance that he had gone to search for supplies. It didn't bode well. If he'd been here long enough to have to go so far out, it meant his dad had been laid up for a while.

Finally we reached a brick building and Carl pushed the door open. As soon as I closed it behind me, he placed a metal bar against the foot of the stairs and pushed it down so that it was wedged against the door. It was an effective lock, I used to have one just like it in my old apartment in NYC.

"This way," Carl said as he walked down the first floor hall to a door in the back. As he pushed open the door I had to fight the urge to cover my nose. It smelled like death in the small, hot apartment.

We went through the kitchen and as soon as we stepped into the living room the smell got stronger. A man was laying on the couch, a bandage wrapped around his left upper thigh. I pulled my gun, unsure if he was alive. His eyes were shut and there was a grayish cast to his skin.

Carl went to step forward but I put a hand on him. "Let me just check first," I said quietly. I stepped over the debris on the floor to place my hand on the man's neck. To my relief there was a pulse. Not a great pulse but a pulse nonetheless.

I put my gun away and pulled a footstool over. "Open up some of those windows, and pull the shades down. It's too damn hot in here." I ordered.

The kid ran over and threw open all the windows. "Should I go open more?" He asked.

I nodded. "Hopefully we'll catch some cross breeze." Also I wanted him out of the room when I first looked at the wound. With the smell it was generating I knew it wasn't going to be pretty and I didn't trust that my face wouldn't show it.

Luckily the bandaged leg was closest to me so it was easy unwrapping the cloth that covered the wound. I tossed the stained material away and took a deep breath. Grabbed the ragged edges of the pants I pulled, tearing the fabric away to let me see the wound.

Quickly I turned my head and gagged. I had never seen anything quite like it in all my life. The wound wasn't just infected, it was completely contaminated. There was pus weeping from it and a fair amount of tissue was dead. Looking down at the man on the couch, I couldn't believe he was still alive.

"Can you help him?" Carl's voice asked from the doorway.

I turned to look at him. He suddenly looked very young. "I don't know, but I'll try. I'll need lots of fresh water and some clean towels. Do you have that stuff around here?"

"There's a stream not far," Carl said.

"Well let's grab some buckets and get moving then." Time was of the essence. I didn't know if the man would still be alive when we got back.

* * *

After the water had been boiled, I sat down to try to clean out the wound the best that I could. "Why don't you start a fire in that cast iron skillet," I suggested.

Carl stood up, "Why?"

I debated about lying but since I'd need his help anyway I told him the truth. "I'm going to have to cut out the infected tissue and I'm going to need to sterilize my knife but I may also have to cauterize any bleeding."

Carl's face drained of color, but I had to give him credit, he immediately went about getting the fire started. I went to work trying to clean as much crap of the leg as I could with only towels and water.

Since we'd already lit a fire in the oven to boil the water, it was only a few minutes before there was a nice blaze in the skillet. I took out the knife on my belt as well as the one from my boot. The smaller knife I placed in the fire and left it there. That would be the one I'd use to cauterize any bleeding. The bigger knife I waved back and forth through the fire slowly several times. I'd use this one to scrape out any dead tissue.

"He may wake up and if he does, he can't move. Use all your weight to pin him down if you have to. Understand?"

Carl jerked his chin once. I took it to mean yes. I clenched my hands into tight fists trying to stop the tremors that were running through them. Once I felt ready I picked up the knife and began.

I started scraping at the rotten flesh but I wasn't making much progress. I increased the pressure and finally dead tissue started falling away. The man on the couch turned his head but didn't stir any further. Over and over I dragged the knife across the wound. Soon small specks of blood began to bead at the edges but the middle was still disgusting. I shortened the passes, focusing only on the inside of the gash.

It was so much deeper than I would have liked. I was definitely into muscle now but I couldn't leave any dead tissue behind. Relief came when I saw blood well up from the bottom. If the tissue was bleeding it was alive. I made a few more passes and decided that was enough.

There was only one spot that bleeding a little too much for my liking and I picked up the knife that had been sitting in the fire. I dabbed at the blood that was coming out, trying to keep the tissue as dry as I could as I positioned the knife. With a quick glance at Carl to make sure he was ready, I lowered the hot steel.

The man arched his back and cried out weakly but didn't truly wake up. I held the knife in place for a few seconds before removing it. When the wound didn't start bleeding again, I said a quick prayer of thanks.

"Carl," I said. "You know that dumpster with all the flies around it? I want you to go get five maggots and bring them back. Try to get smaller ones. I'm going to see if I can find some saran wrap."

Carl looked confused. "Why do we need maggots?"

"I scraped out everything I could but I'm afraid I'll do more damage if I keep going. The maggots will eat the rest of the dead tissue."

"You're going to put maggots in my dad's leg?" he asked horrified.

"Yup and so are you."

Once the maggots were in place and saran wrap with holes poked in it was wrapped around the leg, I told Carl to go get some sleep.

"You look like shit kid. Just go get a few hours and I'll come wake you if anything changes."

Reluctantly Carl did as I suggested, although I think it was the mental exhaustion of seeing what I just did that drove him to his sleeping bag.

Looking at the sick man, I began to cut off his clothes. I wanted to get him as clean as I could, and most of his stuff was in tatters anyway.

As I rubbed a washcloth over his body, I was vaguely aware of how well toned he was. His body was lean and well muscled. If I had to guess, he probably stood just around six feet tall. He must have been doing alright before whatever caused him to be shot happened.

That was the way of this world. You go along for a while, thinking that you're going to be alright and then everything changes in the next instant. As if agreeing, my shoulder began to ache where there was a large scar covering it. I rubbed at it, determined not to dwell on how it got there.

Once the man's body was clean, I tossed a sheet over him. I grabbed a fresh towel and wet it, replacing the warm one on his forehead. As I brushed back his hair I was surprised by how soft it felt. His hair was quite curly, a rich dark brown color with just the beginning of grey streaking through it. I really had thought it'd be courser by the look of it.

As I pressed the cloth onto his forehead, his hand shot up and grabbed my wrist. For a second I thought that somehow he had died and I hadn't noticed, but then I saw his eyes. His very clear, blue eyes. "Who are you?" he croaked out just before he lost consciousness again.

* * *

**So this is just my little take on what happens to Rick and Carl after they left the prison. Not sure yet if it's going to be a one shot, just had the urge to write this down. So let me know what you guys think about it. **


End file.
